Some mornings this last week both Cornflake and I have gone for our walk early, really early. I’m finding that after, or within an entire day on the computer I can’t be bothered going out unless there’s a reason. Food, post office, that kind of thing.
One evening we were so lacking in oomph we literally just walked around the block, we didn’t cross a road.
At the next junction along from us there’s a house unlike the other houses. The man who lives there is a musician, famous in the 80s and 90s. He says hello. This should be unremarkable seeing as we’ve been neighbours for nearly thirty years, but I’m on nodding terms with only a few people who live on our street so it is worth noting.
Obviously I try not to make eye contact with the johnson junior. Then there’s the old guy with a dog, the dog either tries to shag my leg or bite me, so I do by best to avoid all levels of contact with them. I have the occasional chat with the people who live in the rest of this building, and also with a woman whose son I’ve watched grow to middle age. Lots of neighbours are transient, as much of London is.
Anyhow back to the neighbourly music man. He has two double garages and a single garage. I’ve often wondered what he keeps in them. I thought they might be a recording studio or full of some music making equip, instruments, magical musician stuff. Excuse me, obviously I have no idea about music production.
Storage was by best guess. I eye these shut up garages with envy every time I see them.
When we passed on our walk around the block this week the two big garage doors were open.
You’ll never guess what he stashes in there.
Cars, he keeps cars in his garages.
Shocker.
fat tart 